Out of Munster
the narrow path
under the railway
warns me,
” I channel your way.”
What way?
“Your life’s way,
and you don’t even know it.”
In the village square
of Eschbach du Val
the trees approve me:
“We will let you pass
since you have no axe.
Your way will be safe and smooth,
and you won’t even know it.”
On top of the ridge
we walk by grazing cows
ringing the Ferme-Auberge.
“We are more than a photo-op,
Our milk and cheese give you life,
and you don’t even know it.”
We take in the mountain view
and the exhilarating air.
“I give you the oxygen
for your body’s fires.
I am your life,
and you don’t even know it.”
Down to the second Ferme-Auberge
we slide on slopes of grass:
“I am where
your body will rest in peace,
and you don’t even know it.”
Our guidebook lays out
the third Ferme-Auberge.
Where is it?
Are we so easily lost?
Excavated earth
bars our progress
so we make a one-eighty.
“ Overturned by backhoes,
I am overturning your life
and you don’t even know it.”
Cautionary yellow tape
drapes between trees on our path,
a logging site.
We pick our way
around the idle yellow machines
and over the oozing stumps.
“For your house
we have given the best of ourselves–
heartwood, xylem, and cambium–
and you don’t even know it.”
Out of the wounded forest,
we emerge onto a country road.
A fountain bubbles
and quenches our thirst.
“I am the source of all life,
the elixir of microbes, plants, and animals.
Ninety percent of you is me,
and now you know it. “
Our lodging awaits us:
We have been there all day long,
and
didn’t even know it.